


Let's Start This Fire

by ParadiseDesdemona



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is adorably clueless, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Sterek Summer Exchange 17, Tattoo Artist Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, firefighter!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseDesdemona/pseuds/ParadiseDesdemona
Summary: The inch of skin that crept into view when Stiles stretched his lean, ink covered arms above his head was obscene. There should be laws about being subjected that that sort of thing. It was unjust.-In which Derek is a fire fighter with a crush, and Stiles is full of flirting and innuendo-





	Let's Start This Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff and nonsense, I don't even know. A gift for shittyfanfictions (on tumblr), to whom I am forever grateful for this prompt! Part of the Sterek Summer Exchange 2017.

              Derek was in trouble. Not literally speaking—he’d never done a morally questionable thing in his life, he wasn’t _Laura_. No, Derek was in the kind of trouble people get into when they couldn’t control their damn _feelings_ , and they leaked all over the place. He knew Isaac and Boyd had a bet going about his predicament, and he was pretty sure they convinced Alison to buy in the day before. It was unprofessional… Derek didn’t like it, and he did not find it the least bit funny.

              It was ironic, considering liking things was what got him into that situation in the first place. Specifically his unmitigated, all-consuming _like_ of the artist whose tattoo shop sat across the street from Derek’s fire station. Every morning at 9am Derek watched agile fingers wiggle the key in the lock and uncoordinated attempts to both balance his coffee and open the door. He was forced to witness the flailing as Stiles struggled to open the blinds. The inch of skin that crept into view when Stiles stretched his lean, ink covered arms above his head was obscene. There should be laws about being subjected that that sort of thing. It was unjust.

              “You could always _not_ watch him,” Boyd pointed out.

              Derek feigned ignorance and folded the hose he was inspecting back into place. “I’m not watching anybody, I’m checking the rig. It’s called work, you should try it.”

              “Right,” Boyd raised a brow. “Checking the rig at the same time the kid across the street shows up for work. Every day. With the bay door open.”

              “I like the breeze.”

              “You like the view,” Boyd snorted, and because he was actually good at his job he went to inspect the tires. “You should ask him out.”

              Derek ignored him, like he’d done to everyone who stuck their noses in Derek’s love life and tried to offer the same advice. “The front left needs more air,” he said instead, ending the conversation.

* * *

              Derek would absolutely ask Stiles out, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew the answer would be a hard hell no. Really he was just saving himself the disappointment. See, Stiles was Stiles _Stilinski_ , son of Sheriff Stilinski, of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. The same department whose rivalry with Beacon Hills Fire and Rescue had gotten so out of hand that their annual baseball game was permanently suspended and all events attended by both departments had to be supervised by the Mayor’s office.

              So yes, Derek had a crush, but he stood a snowball’s chance in hell of seeing anything come of it. It was for the best, anyway. Derek spent most of his time at the firehouse, and what free time he did have didn’t include much of a social life. Derek was boring, and Stiles was… not.

              “Derek, dude, did you catch that show over at Friction on Saturday? The drummer was amazing! Totally worth the drive over to Dixmont.”

              They were waiting in line at the food truck that parked at the end of their block like they did every day at noon. No, Boyd, Derek did not take his lunch there because he knew it was Stiles’ favorite and only choice for lunch. Derek just really liked Mexican food. Besides, he got to know Stiles in those brief encounters in line. They were… friendly.

              “I was working,” Derek replied, which wasn’t a lie. He picked up a double shift so Alison could go out with her girlfriend, Lydia. Someone in their squadron had to enjoy themselves.

              Stiles rolled his amber eyes, fond exasperation written on his face. “When are you not?”

              “You’re one to talk,” Derek huffed. The line moved and so did Derek, guiding Stiles by the shoulders. He was standing backwards to talk, and it was a miracle he hadn’t already tripped over his own Converse. “How late were you in last night?”

              “I had a client with a killer sleeve who was sitting like a pro, I couldn’t _not_.”

              “I’m going to pretend I understood any of that.”

              “I can say it slower if you want,” Stiles teased. Derek flicked Stiles’ ear, and he flinched away. “Dude, my ears are sensitive.”

              Derek filed that information away with a shiver and moved Stiles again as the line advanced. “Turn around before you trip and kill yourself.”

              “Nah, you’d catch me,” Stiles grinned. He looked down at Derek’s hand still on his shoulder. “So when are you going to let me stick you, Hale?”

              Derek rolled his eyes. “Even I know that’s bad innuendo.”

              “You love my innuendo.”

              “Debatable.”

              “Come on,” Stiles smirked. He took a step forward, his mouth a breath away from Derek’s. “Don’t you want me to mark you up?”

              “Jesus Christ, we’re in public,” Derek whispered harshly. It pained him to put any distance between them, but he spun Stiles by the shoulders and pushed him forward towards the truck. Thankfully, they were next.

              Stiles cackled, managing to place his order through his laughter and waiting for Derek while he got his own food. “Come on, all joking aside, you need to let me give you a tattoo. It’s a crime you still have virgin skin.”

              “Who says I don’t already have one?” It was Derek’s turn to smirk, walking back towards the station. He shot a look over his shoulder to where Stiles stood, blinking, like his brain short-circuited. It took him another second to shake the shock out of his eyes and stumble along after him.

              “Derek, you’re screwing with me. Derek. Are you serious? Derek! You have to show me!”

* * *

              The fire was a bad one. There were no people involved, thankfully, but the blaze had already consumed two stories of a warehouse in the industrial district and was dangerously close to spreading to other buildings. There were six rigs trying to get the fire under control, of which Derek’s had been the first on the scene. By the time they beat it back enough to consider the surrounding buildings safe, Derek’s unit was exhausted.

              Of course that’s when BHSD showed up on the scene, lights flashing. Sheriff Stilinski climbed out of the driver’s seat of his patrol car, scanning the scene shrewdly. A deputy Derek recognized from around, Daehler, Derek thought his name was, exited the passenger’s side.

              “What are they doing here?” Isaac asked, nudging Derek’s arm.

              “Don’t know,” Derek shrugged. Isaac gave him a pointed look. “Should I… go find out?”

              “You’re in charge, Lieutenant,” Alison shrugged at his other side.

              “Finstock is in charge,” Derek pointed out. He looked over to where their captain was animatedly gesturing at the warehouse and talking to Boyd, who was half nodding, half frowning. Alison swatted his arm and he took the hint. “I’m going.”

              He tugged off his helmet and jogged over to the Sheriff. “Something I can help you with, sir?”

              “Hale, right?” Stilinski eyed him steadily, extending his hand to shake. “I was going to ask you folks the same thing. This was a rough one.”

              “No arguments there,” Derek agreed. “We’ve got it under control, though.”

              “You don’t mind if I go check out the action, then?” Daehler asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.

              “Knock yourself out,” Derek replied but Daehler was already sauntering off. He turned back to the sheriff and braced himself. “If there’s something you need, sir, I can get Captain Finstock.”

              The sheriff, calm and relaxed, thumbs tucked into the sides of his utility belt, gave Derek half a smile. “That’s alright son, I’m sure he’s busy. Any leads on what started this mess?”

              “None yet, but we’re—,” Derek didn’t get a chance to answer. There was a scuffle behind them, and a yell, and Derek spun around in time to catch Alison’s helmet connecting with the side of Daehler’s head.

              “What the--,” Stilinski shouted, darting forward, but Derek was quicker.

              He reached the fray in time to yank Daehler back before Alison could hit him again. He was about to finish the sheriff’s sentence and ask what the hell was going on, but he didn’t get the chance. Daehler’s fist collided with Derek’s face, and then Alison was on him again.

              Derek understood why both departments needed a babysitter.

* * *

              Apparently Daehler made a proposition to Alison that included her girlfriend and a lack of clothes, and Alison told him to go hell. He didn’t get the hint, decided to get a little grabby, and Alison figured her helmet was the best way to enforce her point. Derek couldn’t blame her. Still, he could have done without getting punched.

              Finstock, after the lecture he gave them about professionalism on the job, congratulated them all on a fight well won and gave Derek three days off so he didn’t have to look at his face. It was fine. Derek didn’t want to be subjected to Boyd’s silent judgment about Daehler getting a cheap shot in anyway. He could stay home and catch up on his Netflix queue and ignore everyone.

              It was his second day of his self-imposed isolation that Stiles showed up. Derek wasn’t sure how he got Derek’s address, but it didn’t really matter when he was standing in the open doorway, sleeves pushed up past his elbows and big doe eyes blinking wide at him.

              “Oh dude, you look like shit. Deputy Douchebag got you pretty good.”

              “Thanks,” Derek grumbled. He was still in his sleep pants and had a few days’ worth of stubble across his jaw. He wasn’t self-conscious about it, but he wished he had at least thought to put a shirt on before answering the door. “Are you here to rub it in?”

              “Nah man, I’m here to check on you. Dad told me what happened,” Stiles frowned, eyeing the vicious purple bruise Derek had just finished icing again. “He suspended Daehler pending an investigation, did you know that?”

              “That slightly improves my mood.”

              “Would tacos improve it even more?” Stiles brandished a greasy bag Derek hadn’t noticed before. Derek cracked a grin, stepping aside to let Stiles in.

              “They might help… although I’m suspicious,” Derek closed the door, watching Stiles as he looked around, cataloging Derek’s space.

              “That hurts,” Stiles said with mock offense. He finally turned and shoved the bag in Derek’s hands, sticking his own hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “What did I do to make you so paranoid?”

              “Your dad’s the sheriff,” Derek shrugged. “I know whose side you’re meant to be on when things like this happen.”

              “Are you… Derek, are you seriously talking to me about this stupid rivalry?” The offense was real this time. Stiles glared at him.

              Derek frowned. “I’m not… I don’t hate the sheriff’s department or anything, I think the rivalry is stupid, I just thought…”

              “Hell, Derek,” Stiles huffed. He finally eased up, frowning back at Derek. “You thought I would hold it against you that you’re a firefighter. Is that why you haven’t asked me out yet?”

              Derek felt the red rush to his cheeks. “Maybe.”

              Stiles laughed, light and musical, and Derek couldn’t say he was surprised when soft lips pressed against his. Stiles pulled back all too soon, leaving Derek chasing the kiss with a smile of his own. “You should eat those tacos before they get cold.”

              Derek snorted a laugh. “Stay for dinner?”

              Stiles kissed him again, short and sweet. “I think I’d like that.”

* * *

              “You really do have a tattoo!” Stiles exclaimed hours later when they were curled up on the couch watching Arrow. He traced the triple spiral on Derek’s back with his knuckles. Stiles had a whole sleeve of superhero tattoos on his left arm. Derek liked running his fingers over the symbols… he could do that now.

              “I’ve been shirtless since you got here, how have you not noticed?”

              “I was too busy looking at your stupid face,” Stiles huffed. He poked Derek’s cheek for emphasis, and Derek caught his finger, trapping it gently with his hand.

              “If that’s the way you feel you’re not getting a second date.”

              Stiles leaned into him, twisting his hand until their fingers entwined. “Is this our first, then?”

              “Yeah,” Derek kissed him. As far as dates went, it was better than Derek could have hoped for. “I think it counts.”

             

             

 


End file.
